Chapter 3
Aurora
“T hat’s not going to work, Tucker.”
“Of course it is. Just send the VPs on a tour with Jack. My brother will do some wooey team building exercises with them, and they’ll all come back getting along perfectly.”
“Wooey?” I’m feeling a bit better now that I’m armed with my mint mocha. I take a sip and set it on the edge of Tucker’s desk while we discuss his latest harebrained idea. I say harebrained, but most of them actually succeed. Hence: billionaire.
“Ya. You know,” he makes a weird gesture with his hands around his temples, “like mindset and all that shit.”
“Mmm? Wooey? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“You know what. I’m the boss. Just book the damn tour. They’re grown men. They’ll figure it out.”
“And women.”
“What?”
“There are female VPs too.”
“Ah. That must be the problem then.” I chuck my pen at him and he laughs.
“Good to see you feeling better.”
“Yup. Just a momentary lapse in decorum.”
“You? Never.” In his deep voice, he drawls the words, but I ignore the bubbling feeling in my stomach.
“We can’t all be perfect like you, Tucker.”
“Just ‘cause I’m batting 440 doesn’t mean I’m perfect.”
“Don’t use baseball metaphors with me. You know I don’t get them.”
“Alright, just because I scored 100 goals in a season, doesn’t make me perfect. Is that better? You’re good with hockey metaphors. You’ve always loved Lit Creek’s annual hockey tournament more than the baseball tourney.”
“Yes. Much better. But not even Gretzky achieved that many goals in a single season.”
“Is he a billionaire?”
I tap my chin. “Not sure.”
A weird look floats across his face, and then he says, “Never mind. Let’s move on. Anything else to discuss?”
“Nope. I just need my pen back.”
After a quirky tap to his desk, he hands it back to me. I’m just about out of his office when he calls out.
“One more thing. Change of plans. You’re going with me to the gala as my date.”
Um. What? Ex-squeeze me. I don’t think so. I slowly turn, and with as much professionalism as I can muster, I say, “I don’t think I heard you right.”
He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face. I’d like to draw a little mustache over those lips with my pen right about now. “Sure you did. We’re going to the gala together.”
“We were always going to the gala together.”
“Right. But now you’ll be my date. No big deal.”
“Um. Yes. Big deal. What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?” All I did was spill mocha on him. It’s not like a magical spider bit him. Not like he ate a blessed fortune cookie. He surely didn’t find the end of the rainbow in the time since I left. I mean, I don’t even know what any of these things have to do with each other except that they lead to some fantastical results including abnormal brain activity. Like what’s happening with Tucker right now.
“I need a date.”
“So find one.”
“Okay. I lied. I actually need a girlfriend.”
“What?” I screech. I can’t believe I’m screeching. I’m not a screecher. Then again, I’m not a dye-your-hair-pink kind of girl. Nor am I a bang-your-forehead-against-your-boss’s-dick kind of gal. And I’m certainly not a screecher. Even when I recently found out that two of my good friends, Sierra and Emmerson, both got engaged to two of Tucker’s brothers I didn’t screech. I mean, sure, I laughed and celebrated, but I certainly did not release a squeal of any kind.
I tap my chin. Not that I remember at least.
“I just need a fake girlfriend for the night, Aurora. It’s no big deal.”
“So you think you can just come in here and make it a requirement of the job that I be your fake girlfriend?”
“First of all, I didn’t come in here.” He waves around his office. Then, realizing he picked the wrong battle, he moves on. “Okay. Minor detail. But let’s be honest with each other. We always have, haven’t we?”
Have we? I mean, I know I’m not being one hundred percent honest with him, otherwise I’d probably have sucked him off under his desk a time or two in the last few years. So there’s that. So ummm…I’ll have to go with no on that one.
“Move it along. What’s your second of all?”
“Second of all, it’s just one night.”
“Famous last words,” I mutter.
“What’s that?”
“It’s just such a cliche. Boss,” I gesture toward him then back to myself, “plus assistant.”
“Ya but don’t you see. That’s the best part. No one will recognize you.”
And wowzers, that was a dagger to my heart.
“Explain.”
“Your hair is pink. You look…different.”
Great. First he said cute, now he says different. I’m really not loving what this pink hair has done to whatever impression Tucker has of me.
“No one will recognize you.” He’s plodding on. “I can’t be that cliche either.” He shudders. “I would never do that.”
Never. Ugh.
Well isn’t that a nice swift kick in the vajayjay. I knew he wasn’t interested. Unless the man is a vault with his emotions toward me, I knew he didn’t have any feelings for me. There was that first moment when we met at the interview, but I realized I must have imagined the spark when nothing came of it.
“They’ll know my name. It’s kind of unique.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call you Rory.”
“I hate nicknames.”
“I know you do, Pumpkin.” In quick defense, he throws his hands in the air. “What? I was just testing it out. No good?”
“Not even close.”
“Buttercup?”
“Colder.”
“Snugglebug?”
“Glacier.”
Once he starts laughing like this, there’s no stopping him. So I decide it’s best to take my leave.
“Pick you up at three. We’ll drive to the city together, okay? Be ready.”
Aaaand I guess that’s settled.
My nerves are shot. I do hate nicknames. But more than that, I really hate that in his mind there’s no way he could be with me.
I’m such a hypocrite. I totally get it. I feel anxious. That’s why there’s all those fruit flies swarming in my stomach. They’re so annoying.
So what if he doesn’t want to be a cliche. That’s fine with me. I’ll never date my boss again. I already made that vow to myself before.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t fake date my boss. I could say no, but I want to go to the gala. I like those events. Why should I suffer by not going because he’s being an ass?
And of course there’s the second option. I could be nice and poised and just go along with his request. You know, be his shadow. A nice placid little thing. That would be the right thing to do, which I always do.
But then there’s the third option. Which is really sounding tasty. Just because he’s made me mad, I’m going to be the best darn fake girlfriend he could ever imagine. There won’t be a person in the room who doesn’t believe I’m totally head over heels in love with him. I’ll be all over him. Like white on rice. Like a bear on honey. Like freaking butter on toast. See how he likes it when I play the power move instead of him.
And I’ve got the perfect dress for it, too.